


The Secret Life of Steve Rogers

by LeafontheWinf2



Series: AU One Shots [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)
Genre: AU, Afghanistan, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Reporter Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers is a reckless idiot, Steve sings Space Oddity to Bucky, Tibet, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafontheWinf2/pseuds/LeafontheWinf2
Summary: James Barnes is just trying to figure out who he is now. His head is a mess, his life in shambles after Hydra. And now, he’s found out Steve Rogers is alive and in danger.Now James is going to the ends of the earth to bring Steve back home safe and sound.A Secrect Life of Walter Mitty AU





	The Secret Life of Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is my favorite movie of all time. I’ve memoriezed the lines, have my favorite pieces, and just...I love everything about it. I’ve always wanted to do a story with it. And got the inspiration watching Walter Mitty over Memorial Day weekend.
> 
> Think of Bucky as Walter Mitty, and Steve as a combo of Sean O’Connell and Cheryl Melhoff (if you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about). Also, the scene at the bar with for Space Oddity comes from the movie (you’ll get to it) and is my single favorite scene in cinematic history.

2012- New York

The twenty first century was nothing like Steve had suspected. It was too loud, too bright, the people too rushed as they flitted about him with their eyes on too tiny phones that did too much for him to ever be truly comfortable with. SHIELD had noticed it quickly and assigned Steve to a minder, someone who was supposed to get him used to this century and their bizarre ways. They'd volunteered Agent Romanoff, which wasn't a problem to Steve except that she always looked like she'd rather be anywhere else and he hated keeping her from doing her job. 

So yeah, he didn't talk to her much and often would duck out from under her watchful eye for a while to look around at the world without her standing over him in silent judgement. Which was how Steve had ended up here, sitting morosely on a park bench in Central Park with his eyes locked on a distant figure of a homeless veteran begging for change while people stepped around him like he didn't exist. 

God, it made Steve so furious. Just like everything else in this century had and he was rapidly running out of patience to deal with all the superficial bullshit covering it's rotten core…

“Hey. This seat taken?”

Steve blinked slowly, raising his head to stare up at the figure looming above him. A woman with a worn face was looking down at him, brown eyes calculating. But it was like Romanoff’s calculating gaze, this one was different. Warmer, more understanding. 

And that was what had Steve nodding before he could really think about it. Because no one had looked at him like that in a long, long time. 

She grinned, dropping heavily onto the bench which didn't match. Her outfit was expensive, clean cut lines of silk and she was wrinkling it so easily just by draping herself next to him. “You’ve been watching that vet for the last twenty minutes,” she announced matter of factly, a manicured hand scratching at the peeling skin on her nose.

“You watching me that whole time?” Steve hated how resigned he sounded.

“Yep,” she shrugged at him, “At first it was just cause you made a pretty picture, seeing how you've got muscles for days, but then I saw your face. How disconnected you were from the reality happening around you. So I kept watching because I wanted to see what you were seeing that made you look so broken.”

“Besides the homeless vet?” Steve deadpanned. 

“Exactly,” she leaned forward to stare at his eyes, “What do you see?”

“A brave man who went to war to defend his country against a threat, who came home to face ridicule and blame from the people he protected only to be left alone by the government he would have died to defend because he dared to broken when he came back.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated to feel tears welling up. “That's what I see.”

The woman was silent, just watching him with a contemplative frown. “That quite a lot from just one image,” she murmured, shrewd eyes digging deep.

“I used to be an artist,” Steve admitted softly, “Images are how I see the world.”

“Used to be an artist,” the woman looked away, eyes landing on the vet, “How would you like to be one again?” 

“What?”

“Do you want to be an artist,” she still wasn't looking at him, “You've got a good eye, can capture an image that tells a million different stories and I'm always looking for that. So what do you want?”

“To be a good man and do the right thing.” That was all he had ever wanted.

“I can help with that,” she smiled, “How about a job handsome?” 

2013-Washington D.C.

The office was busy when Steve got in, not that it was a huge surprise. His flight back had been delayed, keeping him stranded in Bolivia for an extra two days before he'd been able to escape on the plane and return to the US. Everything in him was screaming to go take a shower and sleep for a week, but Steve knew he had to check in first. 

He moved easily through the cubicles, smiling at the quick greetings his coworkers shot back at him. There was understanding in their eyes as they saw his dirt stained travel bag and muddy boots, a silent camaraderie that they all shared in these situations and it was just nice. To actually belong. To fit into this mad century. 

In no time at all Steve had managed to manifest through the mad house and ended up at his boss’s office. The door was open, a sign that he was expected to enter and submit himself to inspection. So he did, ducking his head sheepishly as he stood before the thick wooden desk.

“You’re late,” was the annoyed start to their meeting, a great sign. 

So Steve would have to be careful to avoid making this worse. “Sorry about that,” he said as sincerely as possible, “Engine delay kept us from taking off.”

“Sure it did,” unamused brown eyes glared at him over a sharp laptop, “It had nothing to do with you having an unscheduled meeting with the leaders of a cartel. Did it?”

“I have no idea what you talking about boss,” Steve smiled, his patriotic Boy Scout smile according to his roommate.

“Sure you didn’t,” his boss, Catarina Alvarez, grumbled as she leaned back in her seat to fix him with a dark look, “When I offered you that job Rogers, I didn't expect you to be such a pain in the ass.” 

“I’ll try to do better next time,” Steve was lying through his teeth, and they both knew it. There was absolutely no part of him that would ever slow down when it came to his job. It was why he was such a good reporter for LIFE magazine. “Is this why you wanted to talk to me?”

“No, I wanted to talk to you because Bryan is retiring in six months,” Catarina looked older at the admission, more worn, “And we're going to need a new correspondent to the Middle East, preferably one who had combat experience so they can be safe as possible there.”

“And I'm the only one who does,” Steve nodded, “Makes since. So I'm being reassigned from South America?”

“If you want. This is more risky for you than it would be for most people,” Catarina warned, “You're Captain America Steve, and there are a lot of groups in that region just dying to get their hands on you.”

“Good thing no one knows I'm Captain America,” Steve grinned, “I'm just a random reporter to them.”

“For now. Let's keep it that way.”

2014-Undisclosed location in Afghanistan

Tugging the thick jacket around himself, Steve settled in with him camera on the bluff. He was overlooking a small village, one that had agreed to have pictures taken for the new spread in LIFE. It wouldn’t be much, just an explanation on how the war had affected daily life out in rural Afghanistan more than ten years later.

The people had been welcoming. They typically were when Steve spoke their language and wrote their stories word for word. He’d gained a reputation in this part of the world for his integrity. Someone said something, and he reported it, didn’t try to justify their thoughts or words to the West. He never asked a woman to uncover herself for a picture, never tried to go where it was forbidden. Just acted respectfully and kindly while keeping his head down. 

He leaned back on his pack, the shutter of his camera snapping lazily in the chill air. The sun was starting to peak through the clouds, warming the back of his neck further with each shot.

The sound of his satellite phone ringing broke the still mountain air. Swearing softly, Steve gently placed the camera down before turning to dig through his pack. It took several precious minutes but he managed to find it shoved under rolls of film and his spare pair of hiking boots. It was awkward to shift it out from the pile, but Steve managed as he pulled it up to his ear.

“This is Rogers,” Steve answered absently, picking up he’s camera and returning to the shots of the town.

“Rogers. Where are you?” Catalina’s voice demanded. 

Her tone raised warning bells in Steve’s head. Catarina always sounded forcibly calm, the result of being in charge of a bunch of lunatic reporters for the international portion of the magazine. Her voice never raised, not when calling world leaders, ordering visas, or even calling in rescue missions. So to have her sounding frantic, voice starting to pitch up to be heard over the ridiculously high background noise? That was a problem.

“I’m in Afghanistan. Near the border doing the story of village life,” Steve admitted, “Same place I’ve been the last two months.”

“Which border?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! It does matter,” Steve jerked away from the phone, staring at it with wide eyes. Nervously, he returned it to his ear when the yelling stopped, “Look, Steve. There was an issue with SHIELD and a lot of documents were just dumped online.”

“An issue?” Steve leaned down, starting to pack up his bag, “What kind of issue?”

“Space aliens from the sky level issue. Absolute cluster fuck that you’re going to have to find your way around,” Catarina sounded absolutely exhausted, “And when I say files dumped online, I mean everything.”

“Isn’t that what we want?” Steve asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “Especially with SHIELD which has a nasty history of unaccountability?”

“Normally yes. Except they dumped your files online as well.”

“Shit.” Steve slumped to the ground, pressing his face into his hands, “When you say everything…”

“I mean everything Steve,” was the pained response, “All the files detailing that you’re alive, that you work for LIFE. It’s all been placed on the open web where anyone can get to it. Like ISIS. Or the Taliban. Or Al Qaeda.”

“All of which can get to me here,” Steve groaned, staring blankly at the village, “Can you set up an extraction point?”

“I could if you were in west Afghanistan. Steve. Please,” she begged, “Please tell me your in the west.”

“I’m in the east actually,” Steve admitted lowly, “So no extraction then?”

“Seeing how SHIELD just fell? No. It’s not going to happen,” Catarina let out a pained sigh, “Only way I can get you out right now is on the opposite side of the country. And if you walk through Afghanistan when every terrorist cell has a picture of your face and knows your Captain America, I’ll kill you myself.”

“So what? You want me to just sit tight?” Steve demanded, staring out at the Himalayas in the distance. “They’re going to find me here if I stay too long.”

“Well you can’t head back either,” Catarina let out an exhausted sigh, “Honestly Steve. I don’t know what you can do right now. There are no options left.”

Except there was one more option. It was insane, just a half mad fantasy he was concocting in total desperation but Steve could make it work. He would need more food, a warmer coat, but he could make it work and get out. 

“Can you get me a visa to another country?” Steve asked, starting to clamber down the rocks to head back to the village.

“I can get a visa, but that’s not going to do anything,” Catarina signed, “You would need to head to Kabul which is a bad idea…”

“Not an Afghani visa,” Steve breathed out, slipping on lose rubble before straightening up, “I need a Chinese visa.”

“Why the fuck would you want that,” Catarina demanded, “Steven Grant Rogers. What are you planning?”

“There’s another option,” Steve admitted with a wild grin, “I can get myself out. I just need to have a registered visa in China as soon as possible.”

“How soon are we talking?”

“Maybe two? No more that that though,” Steve looked back over his shoulder at the mountains rising in the distance, “I think I can manage it in two, then I’ll head back home.”

2014-Washington D.C. (Three Days Before)

Sam knew his roommate was a lunatic. There was something absolutely insane about reporters and Sam hadn’t figured it out until living with Steve. The man gladly and willingly ran into danger on a daily basis, and his stories made the hair on the back of Sam’s neck rise in fear. Steve had always been so nonchalant about being shot at, at meeting with the heads of terrorist cells and collecting their stories. 

But he hadn’t expected Steve to bring his absolute brand of crazy back to the US with him. Or actually, without him because Steve was still in Afghanistan when the crazy started going down.

It started when Sam wandered down for breakfast to see a strange man sitting in his kitchen, staring blankly at the fridge. The man was wearing way too much leather and Sam could count at least seven knives strapped to him, and he didn’t even want to start guessing how many guns were hidden. It was very disconcerting. 

“Hey man,” Sam asked warily, slowly creeping into the kitchen to stand near the kitchen knives, “There a reason why you’re in my house?”

The stranger looked up, face drawn as he studied Sam. “Steve,” was all he said, a planative little sound.

“You’re looking for Steve?” Sam demanded, “My roommate Steve? What did he do this time?”

“He can help,” the man murmured, “He can make everything better, fix it again. Where is he?”

“Steve’s working right now,” Sam admitted lowly wondering what exactly his roommate had promised to some random stranger who showed up in their home.

“When will he be back,” the stranger demanded, hands squeezing the table top. 

Sam was trying not to think about the fact that his table was starting to crack under the man’s hands. It was too early to deal with this nonsense. “I don’t know when he’s getting back,” Sam said quietly, “He could be back tomorrow, or in a couple of weeks. It really just depends on how his job works.” 

The stranger’s face fell while his body slumped forward in defeat. “Steve’s not here?” Was the pitiful question. Complete devastation appeared as he stared blankly at Sam, and what looked like the start of tears were beginning to pool in his eyes. All in all, he looked completely horrible and hopeless. Just the kind of person Steve would offer to help. 

And if Steve came back, and found out that Sam hadn’t helped? That he had looked at this absolutely heartbroken human being and turned his back? 

Well. Those big, sad blue puppy eyes would slowly turn on him. That disappointed expression Sam swore Steve had learned from his mama would come out and just make their whole living situation uncomfortable until Steve eventually went gallivanting back out into the world. 

Those would be the reasons Sam would give later on when he was pressed on why he decided to help this stranger. The main core behind why he slipped into the chair next to the broken man and offered his services instead. 

And of course Sam would loudly scream that he regretted ever making that decision the next day when fighting for his life to stop Project: Insight with the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier backing him. Because that’s how it was. (Except he really didn’t regret it, and he knew if Steve had been here he would have joined in. Cause reporters are lunatics.) 

2014-New York

The Asset...Bucky...James, that was right. James was the name he wanted to go with now, it sounded the most right out of all the names in his head. James wanted to find Steve. He wanted to see his best friend (maybe more judging from his memories) and wrap his arms around him and just exist in the moment. 

Except Steve wasn’t here. He was off on some crazy mission for a newspaper or magazine of something. It was all still really fuzzy when he tried to think about it. All he really knew was that Steve was missing and everything was awful when that happened. 

Sam was supposed to be able to find Steve. He was supposed to get James back where he belonged but that hadn’t happened because James’s home was missing, somewhere out in the world with no possible contact. It was hard and it hurt which was why James had curled up to watch the tv morosely. The footage from D.C. was playing non stop while pundits yelled about what had happened and the files dumped online. Reporters had swarmed the tower, James could see them from his window. 

Except there was one new group who wasn’t reporting. LIFE, the magazine, had gone completely silent. At first James had thought it meant they were controlled by Hydra, but it had been released recently that they were searching for one of their reporters who had gone missing. They had only emerged yesterday, and looked exhausted even as they dove into the mess with single minded focus. 

Speaking of LIFE, one of the reporters had come to the tower to talk to Natasha and Sam. She’d offered to speak with James, but when he refused she’d just nodded and set up her recording information which raised James’s estimation of her. 

Andrea Flores was a small woman with a tired smile. She knew Sam, apparently working with Sam’s roommate which was the only reason Bucky hadn’t slunk away when she started asking questions. Maybe, he wondered, maybe if he listened she’d be willing to tell him about Steve. Or give Bucky a functioning contact number. 

“Thank you both for your time,” Flores beamed through the bags in her eyes, “I just have one last question Ms. Romanov. Is that alright?”

James assumed Natasha had nodded, but he refused to look away from the woman who could lead him to Steve. 

“When you dumped the SHIELD files, was there an evacuation plan in place for civilians?” Her smile had gone from kind to fixed, not a threat but clearly unfriendly.

Natasha didn’t sound intimidated though. “I had bigger concerns at the time. Like dealing with Project: Insight.” 

“So you dumped civilians information online without considering the ramifications? Not even civilians whose identity SHIELD was protecting?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Flores nodded, leaning down to dig around through her purse. It took a few seconds, but she pulled out a stack of papers. “These are the F-340 forms for civilian protection in SHIELD, specifically in the case of an agent retiring to civilian life. And you dumped all of them online.”

“They’re retired in the US. Safe from anything that could involve evacuation,” Natasha snapped, drawing James attention away from Flores. The Widow looked furious, eyes lethal as she regarded the reporter. 

“Most of them yes. My coworker?” Flores’s smile disappeared, “Not the case.”

“Some reporter…”

“Our international correspondent to the Middle East. Pretty much the worst place he could be,” Flores snapped her notes closed, grabbing the recorded and getting to her feet, “I would recommend checking form F-340-5b. Cause I can guarantee every terrorist organization has found it and is responding. I’d hate for the Avengers to be playing catch up.” And with that, she stood gracefully and practically floated out of the room, leaving disquiet in her wake.

Natasha stared at the closed door for a long moment before getting to her feet and storming out of the room. James watched her go, but something held him back. Instead his eyes darted towards the elevator door where Flores had gone. 

Flores. Who worked at LIFE. With Steve. Who was still missing. 

It wasn’t a conscious movement, but James was up and out the door sprinting after Flores. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, rushing down them before throwing himself into the lobby to chase her disappearing form. “Ms. Flores!” James yelled, tumbling out onto the street after her. “Ms. Flores!”

She paused, turning to loom over her shoulder. She didn’t look surprised to see James rushing at her. Instead a pleased smile curled over her face as he stumbled to a stop right in front panting before her. “Mr. Barnes,” she murmured.

“You work for LIFE,” James gasped out, “You know where Steve is?”

“I know a lot of Steve’s,” Flores brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“Steve. Steve Rogers? He works with you?”

“I can’t give out my coworkers information. But you know who can? My boss, Ms. Alvarez,” she reached out to pat James on the shoulder, smiling turning gentle at his flinch, “She can help you Bucky.”

James stepped back, curling into himself. “I’m not Bucky,” he whispered pained to actually say it out loud. Because even if he stumbled on Steve, his Steve, he’d still be wrong. 

Flores smiled brighter. “You’ll find Steve’s not the same either. You can be new people together.” 

And with that she turned and walked away, leaving James standing there dumbly in the street. “Where is Alvarez!” James yelled, trying to be heard above the crowd. 

“Washington D.C.! Go meet her!”

2014- Washington D.C. 

Catarina was exhausted, and had forgotten what her apartment actually looked like. She was wearing the same clothes she’d started the week in, and had never been more thankful that there were showers in the building for reporters due to situations like this. Because the fall of SHIELD was a giant clusterfuck that they were attempting to deal with.

Sure, another department at LIFE could handle it. But her international reporters were the best and everyone knew it. So they had been deployed, and the ones not in the US had been recalled. 

Except Steve fucking Rogers who had disappeared into the middle of nowhere. 

“Marcus!” Catarina roared, throwing the door open to below at her secretary, “Marcus, how is the visa to China going!”

“Um,” her poor secretary looked terrified, “The Chinese government wants to know when Steve will actually be in the country?”

Which was the million dollar question. If she knew where Steve actually was and where he was going (besides just China) then she might actually sleep tonight. “Right. Change of plans,” Catarina huffed, “Tell them that I’ll be down for a meeting to talk about the whole Steve thing in twenty minutes!”

Marcus whimpered and ducked back down to his phone as Catarina stormed further out into the room. “How’s the coverage of SHIELD going people?”

“We’ve got the story connecting Pierce to Hydra ready to go,” came one of her people.

“Flores is working with the Black Widow, emailed her notes and said she’s typing them up,” came another voice.

“We’re doing the coverage of leaked files,” another voice piped in. From a very young looking reporter, “Ms. Alvarez, is Steve really…”

“Yes he is,” she snapped, “But that’s not what matters right now. What matters is informing the American people about Hydra and their influence! Understood people?”

She got various yells of understanding before the sound of typing and conversations returned to a dull roar. Catarina stood there for a minute, watching her reporters run like the well oiled machine they were. She had the best people in the business. Her reporters had no fear, and would make sure all their stories were completed to the best of their abilities. 

A small smile briefly appeared on her face. Just for a second before fading away into exhaustion as she returned to her office. The sound of the door clicking closed and the muffled silence of her office. Exhausted, Catarina leaned forward, digging her forehead into the wood of her desk and gritting her teeth to keep from screaming. Why? Why couldn’t things just calm down for a day? Just long enough for her to catch her breath.

“Ms. Alvarez?” 

The voice was softer than she expected. It she had been expecting him to show up for a while so she might as well get this over with. Heaving a groan, Catarina turned to face the corner of her office. “Mr. Barnes. Can I help you?”

He was hunched over in his chair, trying to look smaller than he actually was. There were no visible weapons on him, but Catarina knew better. She had read the files on James Barnes, was currently writing the story about his treatment and would be publishing it in four days and still didn’t know how to end the article. (Part of it was because she didn’t want to face Steve’s face if she vilanized his best friend. The other part was she had witnessed the Winter Soldier gun down civilians back in Rwanda and she could not reconcile those two images into one being).

“I,” Barnes looked aside, fidgeting nervously, “I’m looking for Steve. And Flores said to talk to you.”

Catarina was going to kill that girl. Really, she was. “What do you want with my reporter?l

“I...I just need to see that he’s okay,” Barnes fidgeted nervously, and he just looked so painfully young. “He’s...Steve has to be okay.”

Fuck. Of course Barnes wanted to talk to Steve. Catarina sighed, leaning back against the desk to watch him with exhausted eyes. “I can’t tell you Steve’s fine,” Catarina admitted softly, struggling not to react as Barnes expression just broke.

“He’s hurt? He’s sick?” Barnes whimpered, actually whimpered. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “He...Steve went off the grid when SHIELD fell. His files got dumped online, everyone knew who he was. That he was in Captain America.”

“So?”

“He was out on assignment without a military escort,” Catarina admitted, “In Afghanistan.” 

Which had been a mistake on so many people’s parts. No reporter should go out without an escort, but Steve did it all the time. He would always grin and say he didn’t need one, and she would always threaten to fire him, and the cycle would continue. And she would give anything to have that cycle keep going. If only someone oiled find Steve. 

Wait. 

She raised her head, looking at Barnes who looked like she’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it. “Barnes, you really want to find Steve?”

He nodded miserably. 

She sighed, stunned to think she was actually going to do this. “Look, Steve’s missing and with SHIELD gone no one cares to find him,” and by the time they did care, he’d be dead. “Except you. So I’m offering you a job to find him and get him home safe.”

Barnes looked up, hope starting to shine again in his eyes. “Really? You’d let me find him?”

“I’ll even pay you to find him and drag his stubborn ass back here,” she huffed. “All I’ve got is he’s going to China sometime in the near future, and needs a visa. So my plan is to get you a visa to China and have you hunt him down. In fact, I’m going to the Chinese embassy now. You’re going to come with.”

“I...Yes,” Barnes stumbled to his feet, “But I’m not supposed to go out without an escort…”

“You have one? We’ll get them a visa too. Actually two people might be best to drag Steve back here.”

“Yeah, Sam Wilson. He’s my escort.”

“Wilson. Huh,” she’d met him a couple of times, usually when he came to pick Steve up from work. He had always impressed her, and a part of Catarina mourned he had become therapist instead of working for her. Wilson would be a great reporter. “Marcus!”

Her secretary wailed at her yell.

“Call Sam Wilson, Steve Roger’s emergency contact. Tell him he needs to meet me at the Chinese embassy in D.C. if he plans to live to morning.”

“Um, cause of the Winter Soldier?” Marcus whispered. 

And Catarina did not care that Barnes flinched. Really, the only reason why she was glaring at him was because it was a stupid question. Not because Barnes looked like a kicked puppy.

“Marcus. Are you suggesting I need an assassin to make people suffer?” She hissed.

“No ma’am,” Marcus whimpered and looked like he might faint. “You’re terrifying and can kill your own people without help.”

“Damn straight I am,” She snarled, storming towards the exit with Barnes trailing behind in her wake. “I need tougher assistants.” 

Barnes snorted. 

2014- Tibet

It was cold, but in a good way. Steve could see his breath curling in the air as he curled up in his coat under the sky. A normal person would have frozen to death by now, but Steve knew he would be fine. He had survived seventy years under ice. He could handle a few weeks of cold nights.

It was worth it to look up and see the stars. There were so many of them, and Steve could lay on his back and see the curled of the Milky Way when the clouds pulled back. 

Steve loved it. He had already taken a ton of pictures and had posted a few on his Instagram feed. Around ten o’clock a satellite drifted overhead and Steve would post one picture to let people know he was alive before shutting off his phone to conserve battery. And each one was of the mountains, the sky, sometimes a river or animal. It was beautiful. 

It would be better if Steve could share it with someone. (And a part of him always wailed that he should share it with Bucky, but that was impossible.) 

Huffing into the air, Steve curled up further into his jacket. Tomorrow he would wake up and walk some more. He was drifting through the mountains, meandering through the snow and rock to throw off anyone searching for him. Eventually he would turn north and leave the mountains to return to civilization. But that was a few days away.

For now Steve could shut his eyes and pretend he was sitting at a campfire. Surrounded by the Commandos with Bucky beside him. Tomorrow he would face reality. He’d seen a small mountain village down the side of the ravine, but had been unable to get to it with the dark coming in. Tomorrow he would go into the village and get directions on where to go. But tonight he would dream of the past. 

2014-New York

“His Instagram updated,” Sam announced, eyes rising fro, his phone to take in James’s hunched over form.

The former Winter Soldier had curled up over the table, papers spread out in front of him in a riot of colors and faces. Sam recognized all of the pictures, knew them all from spending time with Steve. His roommate and friend would show Sam his favorite pictures and murmur the story behind it before publishing it in LIFE.

It seemed like a form of self torture for James. To torment himself by staring at the remains of Steve’s life laid out before him, pictures on a page but not the man itself. But James seemed determined to look through everything in the hopes of finding some sort of clue. 

“What did he post,” James mumbled, eyes skimming over an article on Libya with bright pictures of the aftermath of the Arab Spring. 

“Another picture of the night sky,” Sam groaned, head hitting the desk hard, “Along with the twelve other pictures of the sky, ten pictures of rocks, and six of his shoes. Man, what the hell is Steve thinking?”

“He doesn’t. Think that is,” James grumbled, “He’s not thinking now.”

“Still. He could post something that would make it easier to find him,” Sam’s head stayed down, defeat wafting off the other man at the lack of information.

And really, James mused as he stared into a picture of a sunburned Steve smiling up at him, that was the problem. The pictures told them Steve was alive, but that was really all it did. It didn’t give any clues of where he was, where he was going, or if he was injured. 

Now, James had figured out mostly where Steve was a while ago. The map of Afghanistan and the first picture of rocks had been the only clue that Steve had wandered into the mountains, and if he was trying to avoid the terrorist cells he would move away from Afghanistan. Which left the Himalayas, but where was Steve going next? Would he wander to India? Or China? Alvarez thought China, seeing how she was trying to get a visa but Bucky knew better than to trust Steve to follow through with a plan…

“It’s hopeless,” Sam’s resigned voice drew James’s attention back to the present. The other man just looked broken as he stared at his phone, dejection falling off him, “Steve’s making it impossible to find him.”

“Not us, just the terrorists,” James protested, heart thumping. Steve couldn’t be hiding from James. No, he would be happy to know James was alive. He’d send that sunshine smile to James, lean in close and give him a quick kiss before cuddling in close and everything would be fine. (It was an impossibility for Steve to be dead in a ditch somewhere, a bullet in his skull from a terrorist who hunted him down. Or his body broken and twisted at the bottom of a mountain ravine). 

James’s metal hand curled around his phone in his pocket. “I’ll find Steve,” James stumbled to his feet, trying to keep from breaking down and crying. “He’s out there and I’ll find him.”

Sam sighed, tired and worn as James stumbled towards the elevator doors. “James, man. No one finds Steve if he doesn’t want to be found.”

But that was the problem, James thought at the elevator doors slid closed. He was the best assassin in the world. No one should be able to hide from him, let alone Steve. 

He knew Steve better than he knew himself. He would shut his eyes and see a small, skinny punk striding besides him or a broad shoulder soldier leading them forward towards battle. Either one had a bright smile that shone extra for Bucky. Even the memory of it warmed him as he walked down the cold New York streets, hunched in on himself and chasing a memory. 

That memory led him to a run down bar in Red Hook, with a sticky counter and familiar stains. He felt, deep in his bones, that this counter was even older than he was and if he shut his eyes he could see if filled with dock workers and Steve curled up around a sketchbook next to him. But it was empty now. 

That was where Natasha found him. Nursing a weak beer as a mournful song crooned over the buzz of the overhead fan. She slid into the seat next to him, signaling to the disinterested bartender for a drink.

“Sam’s worried about you,” Natasha murmured, making a face as she took a sip of the drink, “Said you stormed out of the room.”

“I had to get away,” James’s fingers drummed against the counter, following the beat of the song.

“Why.”

“He wants to give up on Steve. I can’t give him up,” James whispered, “Even when I forgot everything, I remembered Steve. He was sunshine and warmth, cinnamon and apples when everything around me was cold and ice and torture.” 

She nodded, not raising the drink again. “Space Oddity.”

“What?”

“This song. It’s Space Oddity by David Bowie,” a small smile crossed Natasha’s face. “It’s Steve’s favorite song. He told me that when I went to check in on him last year.”

“You’re his handler?”

“I was,” Natasha sighed, “He wasn’t supposed to be in the Middle East. He was supposed to be reporting in South America to avoid things like this. But he doesn’t listen, and now he’s out there without backup trying to survive.”

God. Just the thought of Steve struggling to breathe made James want to scream. “I already know he’s in trouble,” James gasped out, body shaking and eyes tearing up, “What do you want me to do?”

“Go find Steve. I can’t because Congress keeps calling me in, but you can go.” Natasha reached out, patting his shoulder.

James’s eyes were drawn back down to a cut on the bar’s surface. “I’m not supposed to go without an escort. I need to wait for the paperwork to be processed.”

“Why wait? Just go,” Natasha shrugged, heading towards the door, “You’re the Winter Soldier. They won’t catch you.”

And then James was alone with the bartender, and his thoughts. Thoughts that swirled around Steve and Bucky and how James would fit in now. How Steve would react to him being alive. If he would kiss James, or if he had moved on. Or if James actually wanted to be touched or touch, or if he just wanted to gaze at Steve from afar to make sure his sunshine was safe but not sully him with James’s stains…

This would all be so much easier if he knew Steve was alive. 

“Excuse me?” James stiffened, spins going ramrod straight at the familiar voice filling the bar.

He turned slowly, eyes widening to see a man sitting on the crappy band stage with a smile. Steve was there, sprawled on a stool with a guitar in hand, smiling gently at James with love and devotion in the corners of his mouth.

James blinked slowly, leaning towards the bartender. “Excuse me, is there a man with a guitar in here?”

“What? No, just you,” the bartender huffed, turning away, “Fucking idiot.”

Right, Steve was missing. This was just a hallucination, a figment of James’s imagination that was missing his best friend (and hopefully more) getting out of control. 

Except...James did miss Steve. And hallucination or no, Steve was smiling at him. 

Smiling, and leaning forward awkwardly (Stevie was always so awkward) to speak into an old microphone. “This song is for Bucky,” Steve grinned, strumming the guitar and looking right at James, “You know what to do Bucko. Alright?”

“What...Steve,” James slid to his feet, heart thrilling and eyes wide.

And then...the. James remembered how Steve could sing. He’d always been food at it, his voice a soothing croon he’d always had even when a small, sickly little thing. “Ground control to Major Tom,” James trembled, warmth pouring into his bones as Steve sang. “Ground control to Major Tom.” Steve slid off the stool, leading James helplessly forward towards the door. “Take your protein pills and out your helmet on.”

The wind cut into James’s body even as his phone chimed. Instagram. Steve had updated, a new picture, new evidence that James was helpless to ignore. 

“Ground control to Major Tom.”

The picture had Steve, smiling, alive Steve with prayer flags fluttering in the background and people posing around him. 

“Commencing countdown…”

James knew this place. Knew enough to find it. 

“Engines on.”

He could find Steve and bring him home. A relieved sob left him as the guitar went silent, leaving James sobbing the only noise. A warm hand reached forward, lovingly wiping the tears away and lifting his head to stare into Steve’s warm eyes. 

“Check ignition, and may God’s love be with you,” Steve crooned, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to James cheek. Gasping, grey eyes fluttered closed at the touch…

And when they opened James was alone. Steve wasn’t there, he’d never been there to start with. Steve was in Tibet, waiting for James to come find him. But first James had to find a plane to get there. 

And from the pounding in his heart and lungs as he sprinted back towards Avengers Tower, he was well on his path to finding Steve again.

2014-Tibet

The plateau stretched out before him, bracketed by the great snow capped mountains rising in the distance. Far away, dust was stirring as some animal ran across the land in search of prey.

Or at least, Steve mused as he pressed his cheek to dust stained glass, that was what he was imagining. A wolf or fox hunting small prey against the dusky sky. Beautiful in its own strange way and his fingers itched to draw the picture in his head. 

He’d come a long way in a couple of days. The meandering path he’d taken through the mountains had brought him safely to Tibet, and from there Steve would figure out some way to get home. It would help if he knew Catarina had gotten his visa through, but he was unable to check in.

He’d lost his phone a week ago in the village he was staying in after he dropped it in a mountain stream while helping with he washing. So here he was, on the roof of the world with no way to contact his people. But hopefully he’d be able to make contact when he got to Lhasa and set up an extraction plan.

But Steve mused as the bus’s engine gave out in a haze of smoke, it would take him a while to get there. He might as well enjoy the journey.

2014-Himalayas 

It had taken a while, but James had managed to track down the village where Steve had stayed in Tibet. Wandering up the cold mountain path even as the quinjet took off, James nervously played with the hem of his shirt with each step.

Soon, he would walk into the village and see Steve. Beautiful, living, sunshine bright Steve with his sweet smiles and wild laughter. He would be sitting in the village, James just knew it. Probably under a flowering tree, with blossoms in his hair. Steve would look up when James walked into the village, smile and walk over before reaching out to touch James’s cheek and lean in to…

A blink and the image was gone. 

There was no Steve, scent sweet with flowers, standing there. It was just James, the outline of a village in front of him, and the dust. A heavy pained sigh for the lost moment was the only moment of mourning James had before he wandered into the village. 

It was...quaint was the word. Prayer flags fluttered from the squat white buildings as people bustled around. They sent quick looks at James, confusion and suspicion on their faces even as they hustled the children away from where James stood awkwardly by the side of the road. 

He didn’t understand a single word they were saying. A huge misstep, one he shouldn’t have made but did anyway. Their language just washed over James and left him confused as he stood there, staring helplessly at the people. Somehow, his brain whispered, if he looked hard enough around the village he would magically find Steve. He just had to search more…

Except…

What was that?

The flash of different colors than the rest of the village had James moving forward. He moved slowly, approached a house where a beautiful mural was painted. It was gorgeous. A detailed view of the night sky, all swirls and light leaping from the side of the building and lighting up the street. 

There was something about the curl of the stars, the sweep of the galaxy that sang to James. If he stared at it hard enough, he could see Steve there with a brush in his hand. He would have paint smeared over his nose, James decided, a streak of violet that made his eyes brighter…

“Who are you?” A bright voice demanded. 

James jumped, heart pounding out of his chest as he wheeled around to face a gaggle of children. He would never admit how surprised he was. The Winter Soldier, the most fearsome assassin in the world, taken down by a bunch of kids. James would never live it down. 

He shifted nervously, eyes darting towards the painting like it could save him. “Uh…”

One of the kids eyes lit up in delight. “Dead man!”

Say what now? James frowned, trying to figure out what they were saying. “I’m...not dead?” Unless the kids were talking about his time working for Hydra. 

His confusion must have been evident because one of the kids took off at a run into one of the houses while the rest happily chattered around him. More villagers stopped and stared, confusion replacing suspicion. There was quite a crowd by the time the kids came tumbling back to James’s side, proudly holding out a beautifully drawn picture.

It was James. Young and handsome, smiling at the distance and created before the war. There was so much love in each line, devotion in each stroke of the pencil.steve had drawn this. James knew it in his soul.

“Steve,” James murmured, unaware of the love sliding through his voice. He looked up at the kids, “Where is he? Can you tell me where he went?”

“Lhasa!” They all cried, pointing at a road leading out of the town and into the wilderness. 

“Lhasa, got it. Thank you. Thank you so much,” James beamed, fingers twitching to reach out and take the picture. But he wouldn’t take the gift Steve had given children. 

Not when James had a better present waiting for him in Lhasa. All he had to do was get there. It didn’t take much time to get to the edge of the village where a broke down sign for a bus was barely hanging on. The pole was bent, the sign hanging on with just one screw, but it was beautiful. Because when Bucky sent a picture of it to JARVIS, he received confirmation that Lhasa was one of the stops from the bus. And the next bus was supposed to come in the next ten minutes.

Twenty minutes later, the bus still hadn’t arrived. And James was starting to panic. Each minute he was here was more time for Steve to move farther away from him. and James couldn’t let that happen. 

He was in the process of frantically looking up a way to leave when one of the villagers wandered over and deftly picked the phone out of James’s hands and started typing away at it. It seemed practiced, second nature and James could just imagine the village doing the same thing to communicate with Steve when he had been here. So he stayed quiet and calm, gladly accepting the phone back when it was done. 

It was harder to stay calm when he read the message. The bus was delayed because of a major storm that had caused landslides, making the road inhospitable. It would be a couple of weeks before the roads were cleared and the buses could make it back. 

This was not what James needed. He needed to find Steve. To wrap his hand around Steve’s wrist and feel his pulse beat with his heart. In a couple of weeks Hydra would be able to find Steve and put a bullet between his eyes. Instead of a warm living body, James would be left behind with a corpse. 

No. It wasn’t happening. James refused to allow that possibility to play out.

So instead he pulled out his phone, typing a request to trade anything he had for some way to get to Lhasa faster than on foot. The villagers gave him bemused looks, but obligingly went through his meager belongings but no one had anything to offer. They weren’t willing to give over their beasts of burden for a handful of cash or a smartphone. It was looking more and more hopeless by the minute. 

Or it had, until an old man grabbed the cash and thrust a slightly rusted bicycle into James’s hand. He simply waved towards the road when James tried to thank him before wandering away allowing James to jump on the bicycle and starting pedaling like mad in the direction of Lhasa. 

Slowly, the mountain terrain faded away leaving James pedaling across the plateau. he swerved around the remains of the landslide and headed out into the dust, following the winding road deeper into Tibet’s interior. 

It was beautiful, in a haunting way. Just James, the sky, the earth, and his memories of Steve. Each pump of his leg muscles brought another memory of Steve. The taste of his own sweat brought back lazy summer days with Steve stretched out next to him on the fire escape. The sun his his eyes was hair, the sky was an adoring gaze, and the wind the feel of soft breaths from illness. 

There was even a moment where James looked over his shoulder to see a flock of birds taking wing. If he believed enough, he could even pretend that he saw the outline of Steve’s face in the birds flight. 

Steadily onwards, James flew through the terrain. The sun slowly rose and set above him yet he continued to go forward. The second rate serum that had been pumped into him kept him moving. 

Eventually he managed to push forward enough to see Lhasa rising above the earth. A great white palace stood firmly out, and already James could hear the bustle of people and their voices rising above the wind. Somewhere deep in the city was Steve, alive and strong. All James had to do was get there in one piece. 

And figure out who he truly was first. 

~*~

Lhasa was truly beautiful. Steve relaxed against a rooftop, camera pointed downwards as he took picture after picture of the people below. He highlighted the pilgrims moving about, the men and women with their shopping.

Just...bits of daily life. A life Steve had left behind a century ago and had been unable to reclaim with his new life. Oh sure, there was the room he rented from Sam, and his friends at the magazine, but it wasn’t a true life. 

That had disappeared off the side of a train in the Alps. 

The buzz of prayer wheels drew Steve out of his musing and back to the world below him. He blinked against the bright sunlight, knowing his cheeks were starting to burn from the sun, and returned to taking pictures. 

 

He’d have to actually get a new phone soon, Steve mused as he slowly packed his camera up and started towards the door. Catarina was going to be apocalyptic that he hadn’t checked in yet, and everyday he was pushing it more and more. One day his boss was actually going to kill him. Steve knew he should be more worried, but couldn’t be bothered right now. 

Instead he was going to worry about the new sights before him. Lhasa was one of the most beautiful places Steve had ever been to, and he planned on taking it all in. So he would wander and revel and enjoy the whole thing. 

With everything so new, Steve couldn’t be blamed for not noticing something familiar. He hadn’t heard English in a while, let alone someone calling his name. In fact, Steve had almost forgotten it. So that was why he didn’t turn. 

~*~

Steve was here. His Stevie was here, alive and handsome and beautiful. 

And moving further and further away from James. 

It didn’t matter how James called out, how he pushed his way through the crowds. Steve kept walking ahead. It was a good thing he was so tall now, or James never would have been able to find him in the crowds. 

Still, James continued to run forward. Each step got him closer. Each stretch made Steve more real, not a hazy daydream. 

“Steve!” James yelled, pushing his way through the crowds, “Steve! Steve stop!”

One last desperate lunge, and James was wrapping his fingers around Steve’s wrist. A quick tug had the blonde man turning and oh. Bucky could stare at that disgruntled expression for the rest of his life. 

“What the hell do you…” Steve’s voice faded away. Bright blue eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and James was staring intently at a stunned Steve Rogers. One who had tears welling up in his eyes, whose hand trembled as he reached out to touch James’s stubbled cheek. “Bucky?”

“Steve,” James. No. Not James. Not anymore. “My Stevie.”

“You died,” Steve whimpered. “You died and I was left all alone...God Buck I didn’t know what to do without you…”

“You did just fine,” Bucky, yes. Bucky worked just fine. “You’re a fancy reporter now and everything.”

“Photographer, not reporter,” Steve pressed his forehead to Bucky’s, “How did you even find me here?”

“I’d find you anywhere,” Bucky murmured before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. He leaned back when Steve tried to chase another kiss, turning away. “Later. When we’re back home I’ll kiss you as much as you want. But I have to get you there safely first.l

“Sure,” Steve’s smile was the most beautiful thing in the world, even with his damp eyes, “Let’s just grab my bag from the hotel before we go.” 

It took everything in Bucky’s power not to lean in for another kiss. But he was able to intertwine his fingers with Steve's as they started to wander back to the hotel.

“But seriously Rogers. Hiking the Himalayas? Would it have killed you to wait for help?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time…”

“You stupid punk. Next time, you sit and wait so I can find you easier. Understand?”

“Sure Bucky. Whatever you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory not in this. Catarina hires Steve shortly after he comes out of the ice. She was supposed to interview him for SHIELD but offered Steve a job instead. Steve was her apprentice, and moved to DC for work.
> 
> Catarina forced Steve to go to the VA because she cares more about Steve’s mental health than SHEILD would (being Hydra) where he meets Sam. They become buddies, and Steve rents a room in Sam’s place which is perfect because of how much he travels. Then this story happens. 
> 
> That’s the whole background in my head.


End file.
